Touch (Denazen #1)(85)

Ginger told us Denazen had seven major branches throughout the world, as well as forty-two smaller facilities in the US alone. It wouldn’t be long till they started snatching Sixes from the street again—there was no way Dad was letting me go. And eventually, if not already, he’d find out Kale was still alive. He wouldn’t stay underground forever.

When I’d gone back to the house to get some of my things, I’d also retrieved the list Brandt had given me. The one with the names of all the Sixes on Denazen’s hit list. Most of the summer, Kale and I spent traveling from state to state, tracking them down. Out of a total of fifty-one, we’d found and warned—and in several cases recruited—twenty-one. The last stop on our summer tour of fun would be 8710 Fallow Street. Once we’d tracked down the owner, a Mr. Vincent Winstead, listed as a telepath, we’d be on our way back home.

Home. That meant something different to me now. I had no idea what living with my mom would be like, and although I’d dreamed about it since I was a child, the idea scared me now. We had a lot of time to make up for, and a lot of things to work out.

Like Kale, it was there in her eyes. She was just as damaged by her time with Denazen. Mom was living at Misha’s hotel, where I would go once we returned home. Kale would also be staying there too—in a different room. On a different floor, as I was very pointedly informed by my mom.

Kale. He was slowly starting to get acclimated to the outside world. Seeing things through his eyes had been an eye-opening experience for me. His first sunset, the first time he’d tasted mint chocolate chip ice cream, his first trip to the movie theater, all these things breathed new life into me. Simple things, things the rest of us take for granted, they were all new and exciting to him. In turn, they felt new and exciting to me.

There was still a lot he didn’t understand—the first day of our trip he’d tried to attack a man giving a woman choking on a scone the Heimlich. Kale thought he’d been trying to hurt her. And a few days later, he’d taken it literally when I got frustrated and said I wanted to jump off a bridge.

He still wouldn’t use an elevator and would probably always insist on checking under the bed each night, but he was learning. He had nightmares from time to time, waking up in a cold sweat or with a scream ripping from his throat. He refused to tell me what they were about, but promised me someday he would. I believed him. He had to heal in his own way.

No nasty side effects had surfaced as a result of Daun’s healing. For weeks after it happened, Kale panicked with each new day, terrified he’d find me missing a limb, or a memory—the memory of him was his biggest fear. But nothing had happened. Before we left to track down the Sixes, Daun had warned us that sometimes the exchange took a while to surface. We still weren’t out of the woods yet. It didn’t matter to me, though. I had Kale, and I had no regrets.

“Look.” I pointed to the street, where a black Ford Explorer pulled into the driveway.

The man behind the wheel hopped from the truck, light brown hair, bright green eyes, and a friendly smile. “Hello there.”

We stood and made our way down the walkway to meet him.

“Vincent Winstead?” I called, bringing my hand up to shield my eyes against the bright noon sun.

“Call me Vince.” He smiled, friendly and welcoming, and extended his hand. “Can I help you?”

I took his hand. “My name’s Dez, and this is Kale. Do you have a few minutes?”

Vince fished into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “I’m expecting company in a little while. Is there any way you could come back tomorrow? I have no problem supporting our local school—”

“We’re not from the local school,” Kale said. “You’re in danger and we’ve come to warn you.”

While Kale and Vince talked, I found myself distracted. The one thing that scared me more than Daun’s trade-off was the Supremacy project. No new, awe-inspiring abilities had surfaced, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. I was six months away from eighteen. That meant eight months away from a possible, inescapable bout of the crazies. Ginger and the others had already begun searching, but without knowing what chemical Denazen had used to enhance us, we were pretty much sitting dead in the water.

I was determined to find the others—they needed to know the truth—but I had no idea how. We didn’t have much to go on other than they’d all be about my age and have unusually strong gifts. Dad said most of them had been raised thinking Denazen was the good guy, so they were probably already working for them. I just had to find them, and convince them they’d been lied to. Yeah. No big there.

Sighing, I glanced toward the street. Bright purple flowers with cool white swirls lining the driveway caught my eye. They’d make a killer nail polish color. Bringing my hand up to examine the peeling remnants of my two-week-old manicure, I gasped.

The previous chipped red paint was now bright purple with cool white swirls.

Shit.





Acknowledgements


There’s an African proverb that, until recently, I never gave much thought to. It takes a village to raise a child. This book is like my baby, and without my village it would still be a small, horrifically punctuated thing hidden in the deepest recesses of my hard drive.

First, to my parents, who never once gave me the get a real job speech. You’ve been supportive and enthusiastic from day one, and there’s no way I’d be where I am—or who I am—without you. Some days you may not want to take credit for me, but really, ya did good!